Rafael realized something in the last two weeks: he was hatefully loving his husband and mate.
It wasn't the soft, poetic kind of love that sat politely in the chest and waited to be admired. It was the kind that made Rafael want to kiss Gregoris and also push him into a fountain for the crime of existing with that face and that temperament.
Because Gregoris was, at all times, himself.
And apparently that included becoming a nightmare about interior design.
"Mission Nursery" had started as a joke, and then - because the gods had a sense of humor - it became real. Schedules appeared. Consultations were summoned. A poor decorator had walked into the manor wing and walked out looking like he'd met religion, and not the comforting kind.
Rafael had tried to take control by doing what he was good at: choosing.
